


monday i can fall apart but by friday i'm in love

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Omega, Coffee, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mpreg, Neighbors, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Pregnant Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just past five in the morning and Stiles is barely awake, wearing only sleep pants that hang low below his pregnant belly, and he can't get the damned brand new jar of decaf coffee open. But he has a <i>neighbor</i>, and he's too tired to think that waking someone else up at this hour might not be the best (or politest) of ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	monday i can fall apart but by friday i'm in love

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the AU prompt ["So I know I’m in just my underwear and it’s 5am and I’ve woken you up and I know we’re neighbours and we’ve never spoken but please open this jar for me?"](http://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/125076629342/so-i-know-im-in-just-my-underwear-and-its-5am). 
> 
> I needed a mental break, to write something fluffy and cute that had absolutely nothing riding on the completion, and yeah, this spilled out. As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Stiles loves sunset, but hates dawn. He hates it with a burning passion, loathes it, wants to set it on fire. And yet, every morning he gets to _see_ dawn because he has to be at his fucking job by seven, which means getting up at five if he wants a hope of being even vaguely _coherent_ by the time he hits the road.

It really fucking sucks, and it sucks even more now that he’s five months pregnant, can’t even drink real coffee, and apparently has the muscles of a mouse.

Fuck. This particular Monday is Mondaying all over him.

He wrestles with the lid to his brand new jar of instant decaf (he hates the shit, okay, but he’s stuck with it until this little peanut is out of him) and it stares back at him, taunting him with the realization that he can’t even get to something that _tastes_ like coffee.

It’s just not _fair_.

He pushes a hand through his hair, scrubs at his head, because what can he do? It’s not like he has a roommate (because if he did, he’d already have woken them up to help him out). He could call Scott, but by the time he gets here, Stiles will be halfway out the door for his commute. And stopping on the way just isn’t an option because not only does he not have the cash on hand to buy expensive cafe coffee, it would add an extra twenty minutes to the drive and besides, he needs his coffee before he sets foot in that car.

It’s for the good of the world.

Wait.

He has _neighbors_.

In his defense, he’s still half asleep himself as he walks across the hall and pauses, hand raised. It’d only take a moment. They probably won’t even wake up to do it.

He lets his hand fall in three sharp knocks and waits.

Stiles counts slowly, figuring if he gets to thirty then he’s not going to get an answer. He’s not rude enough to keep pounding on the door, even if he really wants his coffee. He’s just said _nine_ under his breath when the door is yanked open and he’s staring at the neighbor he’s never met, the one who just moved in a few weeks ago, and he is fucking hot like _burning_. Stubble and hair like a Disney prince that’s been ruffled by sleep or brilliant sex. Muscles everywhere, and an undeniable _alpha_ aura that makes Stiles whine low in his throat before he realizes that the sound has slipped loose.

“What?” The neighbor glares at him, gaze dropping from Stiles’s face to his bared chest and rounded belly, his sleep pants slung low beneath the bump. For a moment his expression softens, then it goes darkly tight.

Stiles swallows, remembers the coffee in his other hand and raises the jar. “This is coffee. Decaf,” he elaborates, just in case the obviously alpha gets offended by the idea that Stiles might be harming his unborn child. “And it’s a brand new jar and I can’t get it open.”

One eyebrow arches, and Stiles clearly reads the response of _so?_ that the alpha doesn’t actually say. Stiles shoves the jar towards him, almost jabbing him in the chest, fingers just barely brushing the old, worn t-shirt that his neighbor wears. “Please?”

His neighbor grabs the jar, twists the cap loose, then shoves it back at Stiles. He barely manages to grab onto it, fumbling it between both hands as the door slams shut and Stiles is left staring at the number 3B like it’s mocking him.

“Thanks,” he says into the silence, and retreats to his own apartment.

The morning is _not_ going as planned, but at least he’ll have coffee before he’s late to work.

#

Stiles wakes into darkness on Tuesday, blinking with the feeling that something is _wrong_ and he can’t put his finger on exactly what. He reaches for his phone, the only lit beacon in a room carefully decorated with room-darkening shades _and_ curtains, and curses as soon as he sees the time.

It’s six fucking thirty, _and_ his phone is at 40% and not charging. The power’s gone out, and it’s apparently been out for a while already.

He stumbles through the room, yanking open the curtains to let the dawn light filter in, shading the room in soft rose and gold. It’s pretty, but he can’t appreciate it, not when he’s supposed to be on the road _right now_ and instead he’s wondering if his fridge is about to be holding several hundred dollars worth of spoiled food when he doesn’t get paid until Friday.

He uses his phone as a flashlight to get from the bedroom to the front door without completely killing himself (the lamp is a casualty and he’ll ask Scott to help him put it back together later, when there are lights to see by), and yanks it open. The single bulb that hangs in the hallway is out as well, although Stiles doesn’t know if that’s because it blew out while he was sleeping, or the power is off here, too.

There’s only one way to find out if it’s the whole building or just his apartment, so he knows whether to call the landlord or the power company. He crosses the hall to 3B and raps three times.

The door opens before he even gets to _two_ in his counting.

“Is your power off?” Stiles asks.

His neighbor’s lip curls, nostrils flaring as he inhales. “Derek,” he replies.

“Derek?” Stiles isn’t sure what sort of a response that’s meant to be, or if maybe he wasn’t clear. He’s still half asleep, despite having managed to sleep more than intended, so maybe he didn’t get the words right. “I asked if your power is off. Mine is, and I need to know if it’s a breaker to my place that needs to be reset, or if I should call the power company to find out how long the outage is going to last. I’ve got a fridge full of food—and food’s kind of important,” his hand drops to cover his belly, and he realizes that yes, he’s half naked again standing in front of his incredibly hot neighbor, who is _staring at him_. He scratches an itch—no one told him how much it was going to itch when he was pregnant—and coughs to cover his embarrassment. “Anyway. Power?”

“Off,” his neighbor replies, and closes the door. There’s a thump on the other side, and Stiles cocks his head, listening for something more or waiting for the door to open again, but nothing else happens.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. He needs to take a cold shower, get dressed in the dark, and go without coffee this morning, and on top of all that, he’s going to be late to work. _Really_ late to work.

He sighs and waddles across the hall, pausing when he feels a flutter in his belly. Breath hisses in and he stands there, both hands on his stomach, waiting to feel it again as his child tosses and turns.

Something thumps again in the distance, and Stiles hurries into his apartment, not wanting to bother his neighbor any more. He’s half afraid that the next time it happens, the thing being thumped is going to be him, and suspects it’s only the natural protective instinct any alpha has for a pregnant omega that’s keeping him safe right now.

It only occurs to him after he’s shut the door that _Derek_ is probably the guy’s name.

He hasn’t had his coffee (even if it’s decaf). No one can blame him for not exactly being awake.

#

The alarm sings at five on the dot, and Stiles moans into his pillow, hand lashing out at his phone, then catching it before it hits the floor when it falls off the nightstand.

He has power.

He knows there is an almost brand new jar of coffee in the kitchen with the lid already loosened.

And he stopped at the bakery on the way home to get the end-of-night muffins, so one is waiting on his counter for breakfast.

Today is going to be a perfect day. It’s the middle of the week and it’s only downhill from here.

There’s a light flashing on his phone and he presses play to listen while he gets ready for the shower.

“ _Stiles, this is your dad. I put a care package in the mail at the end of last week, so that should be getting there on Tuesday or Wednesday. It’s got cookies from Melissa, and she said to tell you that you shouldn’t eat them all at once, and asked if you’ve had your blood sugar test yet. Don’t worry, she does the same to me—won’t let me have bacon most of the time, and only two slices when we do have it. I put in a book I found in the attic. It was your mom’s when she had you, and I thought you’d like to read it, considering what you’re going through right now. She wasn’t on her own, of course, but pregnancy’s one of those things I’m just not going to understand like she did, and I figured you might want to share it with her any way you can._ ”

The cookies are a lure, yes, but it’s the book that makes Stiles drop everything and decide that he has to get the mail _right now_. He doesn’t bother putting his sleep pants back on, just grabs a towel to wrap around his hips and heads out the door and down the stairs to the row of mailboxes. It takes him three tries to get his combination right, his brain still fogged from sleep, but when he does the package is right there waiting for him. A part of him wants to open it right there, but he _is_ aware that he’s standing in the foyer of his apartment building wearing only a towel at just after five in the morning. Maybe he should take it back to his apartment.

He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can, irritated by the way his heart is hammering in his chest by the time he reaches the second floor, his legs feeling like rubber. He’s not out of shape, just _pregnant_ , and it takes a toll on an omega’s body.

The tears that come when he reaches his landing on the third floor are pregnancy related, too. They have to be. Because Stiles wouldn’t normally _cry_ to see that his door is closed and when he tries the handle, properly locked. It must have closed behind him when he ran out, and of course, he’s not carrying anything more than the towel he has wrapped around his hips and the package from his dad.

_Fuck_.

He touches his hip and realizes he doesn’t even have his phone to call his landlord, which means he is _completely_ screwed.

Unless…

He heaves a slow, sighing breath, then walks carefully over to stand in front of 3B and rap three times against the door, which opens before he can lower his hand.

“Um. Hi. Derek.” Stiles smiles quickly, trying to be polite and show that he isn’t a _complete_ idiot and that he figured out the name thing after the fact. “I’m Stiles. And I’m your neighbor—obviously—and I’ve been locked out.” He raises his hands, spreading them out to his sides, then drops the one not holding his package to quickly to grab at the towel before it decides to wander off on its own. “Sorry to wake you up like this, but I’ve locked myself out I don’t even have a phone to call the landlord. Can I borrow yours?”

It occurs to him that this is actually the first time he’s apologized for waking Derek up at ungodly hours, and resolves that this weekend he will bake an apology cake, or more likely, he’ll buy apology muffins on his way past the bakery one evening.

Derek turns and walks away without a response, and it takes several beats of the heart before Stiles realizes that the door is still open and hasn’t been slammed in his face. He takes it as a hint that maybe he should wait for Derek to return.

He tries to tuck the towel more securely while he waits, but he can’t manage with one hand, and when he tries to set the package down he realizes that makes everything worse. So he just stands there, the package wedged between his arm and his belly, the baby turning over, wide awake now that he’s up and moving, his fingers twisted tightly in the towel to keep it up.

The door tugs open a bit further and Derek steps out, not quite closing it behind himself. He pauses, looks at Stiles, gaze drifting over him, head to toe before he makes a low sound that sounds like disapproval.

Because of course, no alpha likes to see a pregnant omega without an alpha around. 

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t give a fuck. It’s _his right_ to have a baby on his own, and he made all the arrangements and he’s doing just fine. He doesn’t care what Derek thinks. _Not at all_.

On the other hand, Derek isn’t handing him a phone. No, Derek is walking across the hall, a big ring of keys in his hand. He bends down (and oh _fuck_ that ass is just as gorgeous as the rest of him) to peer at the lock, then straightens while he sifts through the keys on the ring before deciding on one. He inserts in the lock, twists it, and the door pops open.

Stiles blinks in disbelief. “Why the hell do you have a key to my apartment?”

“There are four master keys used in the building,” Derek says, holding the key ring up. “I just had to see which number series your lock was in to figure out which one it was.”

That doesn’t help. “You have the master keys for the building?” Stiles hasn’t moved from where he stands in the middle of the hall, fingers still tight on his towel.

“I’m the new handyman.” Derek looks at him, brows furrowing deeply in a frown. “There was supposed to be a letter.”

There might have been a letter. Stiles can’t be sure; he doesn’t always pay attention to the things the landlord leaves unless it has a number that he’s supposed to pay, or sometimes (rarely) an amount that he doesn’t have to pay, for whatever reason. Rent is important. 

Apparently knowing that the new tenant across the hall also happens to be the person to call when things break is important, too.

Stiles smiles weakly. “I must have missed it.” And now he’s woken up the guy who is supposed to keep things running smoothly at a horrible hour three days in a row. He is _never_ going to get anything fixed properly again. “Welcome to the building. And thank you. I’m usually a better neighbor than this.” He edges past Derek, trying not to bump into him even though his belly makes it difficult. “I’m quiet. I’m usually gone early. This has just been the week from hell and it’s spilled over onto you. So. Yeah. Sorry for that.”

Derek pushes the door open more and steps back, leaving Stiles a clear path to get into his apartment. “It’s all right,” he says, and Stiles isn’t sure it’s the truth because his expression is tight.

On the other hand, it’s probably the best he’s going to get at just past five in the morning. “Thanks,” he says, because he’s not sure he’s actually said it yet, and ducks into his place. He hesitates, but Derek is already walking back across the hall to 3B, so Stiles closes the door. After all, he’s going to need to rush to get to work now, or else he’s going to be late _again_.

#

After getting a warning that the next time he’s late, he’ll be written up, Stiles sets his alarm for ten minutes earlier. When it goes off Thursday morning, he’s barely able to reach out and grab for his phone, fumbling it before he manages to turn it off, then promptly drops the phone on the floor.

Fuck this is just _too early_.

He stumbles out of bed, stubs his toe on something he can’t see, and muffles a yelp of pain. 

No. Today is _not_ going to go badly. He can’t afford this, needs to get to work on time.

He gathers up his clothes, grabs the towel from the chair where he left it the day before, and makes his way into the bathroom. Everything gets tossed in a jumble on the floor except for the towel, which he hangs over the shower curtain rod.

He peers into the mirror, rubs his fingers over the sparse beard stubble on his cheeks and chin. It’s enough that he can’t just leave it, so of course he has to waste his extra ten minutes shaving. _Fuck_. He pulls the razor and shave cream out and twists the tap on the water to let it warm up.

Except.

Nothing comes out.

“ _Fuck_.” This can’t be happening. Stiles twists the tap off, then back on again as if that’s going to change anything. He tries the hot water and the cold, tries the shower, then tries the kitchen. _Nothing_.

By the time he’s done, he’s lost his ten minute buffer zone completely, and he still can’t shave or shower.

Which is when he remembers that 3B is not just _Derek_ but also the go-to guy for fixing things in the building.

Here he goes again.

He makes sure he has his key in his hand, checks that his sleep pants aren’t falling off his ass (it’s close; the pregnancy has not helped things _fit_ ). He leaves his door slightly open, goes across the hall and raps three times on the door to 3B and starts counting.

He starts to worry when he hits twenty, and by twenty-five he can feel the panic attack coming on. This week has been pure shit, and it just keeps getting better and better and he’s going to end up _fired_ before it’s over. His breathing is rough, hands clenched tight as he whispers numbers under his breath.

The door opens on twenty-eight and he finds himself staring at a dark-haired girl wearing a t-shirt that comes down to mid-thigh and probably belongs to Derek from the size. Her gaze sweeps over him and her expression brightens in a swift grin. “Oh, so _you’re_ the pregnant omega neighbor. Don’t you have an alpha you should be bothering?”

“He’s not in the picture.” The words spill out, he’s so surprised at the question. “Never was. Is Derek here?” Because honestly, this just keeps getting better. Apparently he’s interrupting a booty call. Or post-call sleeping. Or something. Either way, there is a half-dressed woman in Derek’s apartment and Stiles has just woken him up at five in the morning. Again. For the fourth day in a row.

The girl leans against the door jam. “He’s in the bathroom. I’m Cora. So. Where _is_ your alpha? You seem like the kind of omega who really needs someone to keep you out of trouble.”

“I don’t need anyone.” Stiles just barely keeps the growl in check, his skin itching, the fine hairs at the back of his neck standing up. She’s another alpha—he can _smell_ her from here, the way she’s posturing—and it only makes him angry. “For the record, I don’t _have_ an alpha. Or a mate. Single omegas can have planned pregnancies. You’ve heard of sperm banks, I’m sure.”

“Oh, really?” Her eyebrows rise, mouth slightly open in an _O_. “Isn’t that interesting. So, you’re totally on your own? No partner in crime? Just you and no one else?”

“Unless you are planning on trying to go all cave man on me—and let me tell you, that would _not_ work since you are neither my type, nor do I appreciate a controlling alpha—this is none of your fucking business,” Stiles snaps. “Besides, should you be trying to flirt with me while… oh hey, Derek.” Stiles closes his mouth, presses his lips together to keep from saying anything else. He doesn’t want to cause trouble in paradise by telling Derek that his girlfriend was flirting, he just wants running water. That’s it. Even if he doesn’t want to think about Derek and Cora and… nope, not going there at all.

“What is it this morning, Stiles?” Derek glances past Stiles, then nudges Cora out of the way so he can step into the hall.

“No water.” Stiles runs his fingers over his not-really-a-beard. “I need to shave, shower, get the hell out of here before I get my ass fired for being late _again_.”

“Where do you work? Cora, get the name, and call in for him. Explain that it’s an official issue with the building.”

“Does that even work?” It doesn’t matter if it does or not, Stiles needs all the help he can get so he reels off the name and main phone number of the place, and hopes that whoever answers the phone gets the message to the right people. Any prayer will do right about now.

“Might.” Derek walks over to Stiles’s place and right inside as if he owns it. It sets Stiles off-kilter to see Derek among his things, but he _did_ ask for help and it’s not like Derek can fix things by waving at them from across the hall. No, Derek needs to be in his kitchen, twisting the faucet and seeing how it doesn’t turn on for him, either.

Stiles wonders if this is going to be one of those moments where he gets to see Derek on his back under his sink, just his hips sticking out, and _no_. He stops that train of thought so fast it squeals in his brain, and he tries to smile when Derek gives him an odd look.

“Something wrong?” Derek asks.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that.” Stiles jabs a finger at the sink. “Water?”

“Looks like something’s gone wrong before it even gets to your apartment.” Derek makes a face, pulls out his phone and pages through the contacts. “I’m not going to be able to fix this before you leave. Grab your things, go take a shower in my place, and get out of here. I’ll make sure it’s put back together before you get home.”

Shower in… where Cora is… “Won’t that disturb your…” Stiles lets the question hang.

“Cora?” Derek shakes his head, still focused on his phone. “It won’t disturb her, although she might disturb you. Give her time and she’ll shower first, then she’ll be gone. She has to get into school early today and wanted to save time by crashing at my place. She teaches a couple blocks from here, but she lives almost an hour away.”

It’s more words than Stiles has ever heard Derek say, all easily spoken as if they are comfortable together and possibly becoming friends. And Stiles likes it, likes the idea that he might actually get to know his neighbor outside of five in the morning wakeups because life has gone to hell.

Except for the part where Derek has Cora, so that means that _friends_ is the only option.

Right, he can deal with that.

“Okay then. Let me just…” Stiles waves down the hall toward his bedroom. “And I’ll go over there. And you’ll stay here. Right? And fix this.”

“I’m going into the basement.” Derek locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket. “Don’t worry, Cora won’t bite.” He hesitates, then adds, “You. She won’t bite _you_ ,” as he grins.

It’s reassuring, and at the same time, it’s not reassuring at all.

“I promise Friday morning will be better,” Stiles says quickly, but Derek is already gone, out the door and down the stairs, as if Stiles hadn’t said anything at all.

#

Stiles checks his phone first, as soon as the alarm goes off, then goes into the bathroom and makes sure the water works. So far Friday is better than Monday through Thursday combined, and he has time for a nice long shower and maybe a little bit of time to jerk it properly, unlike the hurried wash he’d managed the previous morning over at Derek’s place.

He stands under the hot water, letting it flow down his skin and beat against his back, soothing the aches and pains that come with pregnancy. It’s not easy to get a hand down where he needs it with his belly in the way, but he manages and leans against the wall to give himself balance while he has a nice leisurely bit of private time before he washes up.

And the best part is, since he set his alarm ten minutes early, taking a little extra time in the shower doesn’t even make him late. As he twists off the water, he is _totally_ running on time. Maybe even early. 

Except that someone’s knocking on the door.

_The fuck?_

Stiles grabs a towel and wraps it around his hips, tucking it in below his belly and making sure that it’s as secure as possible. He pads to the front door, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the floor, and yanks it open without looking to see who it is. “What?”

Coffee.

He smells _coffee_ and it smells _fucking brilliant_. 

He almost reaches for it before he even looks to see who’s holding it, but a thread of rational thought has him looking Derek in the eye before he looks back at the coffee again. Derek lifts the cup, and Stiles inhales, groaning.

Derek’s ears go pink, and he glances past Stiles to the hall that leads to the bathroom, and Stiles wonders just how loud he was a few minutes ago, and how good Derek’s hearing is. Well. Oh. Too late now.

“Did you bring me coffee?” he prompts, and when Derek pushes the cup toward him, Stiles grabs it before it can slosh out. He lifts it to his lips and is about to take a sip when he groans, remembering. “I can only drink decaf. Please tell me this is decaf. I mean, who brews actual _decaf_ but oh God, it smells so good.”

“It’s decaf,” Derek says quietly. “It wasn’t difficult to brew a pot of it. You were drinking crap on Monday.”

“I don’t have time for real coffee, and I don’t have the money for the really good stuff.” Stiles takes a quick sip and the groan slips free, low and vibrating through his body. “And this is the _good stuff_.”

“The woman at the counter said it was the best.” Derek takes a step back. “I hope you like it.”

Woman at the counter. Wait… “You went out and bought coffee so you could make it for me?” Stiles can’t believe it, but Derek’s nodding at the words. “Holy shit. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before, and especially not after I’ve pissed them off four mornings in a row. That’s kind of a record and we don’t even live together. I ended up with a single my freshman year of college because no one would be my roommate.” He steps back, motions with his hand. “You should come in. Unless you have your own coffee to get back to.” He tries to think through the potential offerings in his kitchen, and grins when he remembers where he stopped on the way home from work. “I have cinnamon buns. They’re a day old, but thirty seconds in the microwave and you’ll never notice.”

“I’d like that.”

Derek’s inside and heading for the kitchen before Stiles realizes what he’s done. He has just flirted with someone else’s boyfriend. An alpha who is dating another alpha.

He is so fucked.

Stiles closes the door gently, pausing to drink another sip of coffee because if he’s a dead man, he’s going to damn well finish the coffee first. “Do I have to worry about Cora coming over to kill me?”

Derek turns, one chair pulled out from the table, brow furrowed in a deep frown. “Cora?”

“Alpha. About so tall.” Stiles holds his hand out. “Eyebrows. Snarky. Your _girlfriend_.”

He’s not prepared for the way Derek laughs out loud. He’s not all prepared for the sudden, bright grin, exposing bunny teeth that are so fucking adorable that Stiles could melt. Stiles grabs onto his towel just in case he has a bad reaction to this—it could happen, it _really_ could happen—and things get embarrassing.

“Cora’s my sister.” Derek gestures at the chair, and Stiles sits carefully, trying to keep his towel in place.

“Your sister,” Stiles echoes, because that was _not_ what he was expecting.

“And you aren’t married,” Derek says, as if it’s important. When Stiles makes a small noise of confusion, Derek points to the belly evident since Stiles is still half-naked.

“Oh. Yeah. Sperm bank.” Stiles licks his lips, trying to figure out where this conversation is going before he spills all the personal details. “I uh… I wanted a kid. And my dad wanted a grandkid to spoil, and I’ve got good friends who are willing to be honorary aunts and uncles. It just seemed like the right time to do it, as long as I don’t get fired and end up unemployed and living on the street. That would _not_ be the best way to single parent, and I don’t really want to move back in with my dad, either. He’s already raised one kid; he should get to just borrow mine occasionally and give it back, which will not work out if we are stuck living in his house.”

“Are you going to be late for work if we have breakfast?” Derek turns away, finding the box of cinnamon buns and opening it up, nostrils flaring as he inhales. “You went to Jasmine’s.”

“Best bakery in the neighborhood and they sell the day-olds at closing,” Stiles replies. There’s something incredibly hot about watching Derek go through his cabinets until he finds a plate and puts two buns on it, popping it into the microwave. “And no, I won’t be late if we have breakfast as long as I buy lunch and don’t try making something before I go. And if I go get dressed now.”

“Pity.” Derek’s gaze drifts over Stiles when he stands up, and Stiles is acutely aware that he is wearing _only_ a towel. Nothing else. Not a stitch.

He coughs, trying to cover the way his breath is trapped in his throat. “Was that flirting? Because that sounded remarkably like flirting.”

“Do you get lunch at noon? Thirty minutes or an hour?” Derek approaches him, and Stiles stands his ground, realizing that they are almost exactly the same height even though Derek has an alpha’s breadth to his shoulder. “Because telling you that I’ll pick you up for lunch is flirting. Saying that if you want dinner tonight, I might be persuaded, is also flirting.”

“Lunch _and_ dinner?” Stiles asks.

“Breakfast tomorrow, too,” Derek deadpans.

“ _That_ is definitely flirting.” And Stiles needs to escape before his towel is not enough to be decent anymore. “And you know what? If you can handle me waking you up at five in the morning to open a jar of coffee—”

“It could have been pickles to go with your ice cream,” Derek counters.

“God, no, if I wanted to really be embarrassed, it would’ve been something like a jar of lube,” Stiles mutters, unable to look up when Derek snorts loudly. It is _not_ his fault that pregnancy comes with hormones. “ _Anyway_ , you haven’t killed me yet, so you deserve this. Fine. But I’m buying lunch. You can buy dinner—it’s more expensive anyway. And I want coffee tomorrow morning, more of this fucking brilliant decaf coffee.”

“It’s a deal.” Derek brings one hand up, and Stiles can’t move, doesn’t want to move as Derek lightly touches his cheek, presses his palm to Stiles’s skin before moving in slow enough that Stiles could easily refuse if he wanted.

He doesn’t want to refuse.

The kiss is soft, sweet, questioning and gentle, and Stiles leans into him, kisses him back enough to let him know that it’s wanted.

“Go get dressed,” Derek says. “And try not to break anything else in your apartment. You can eat your cinnamon bun on the way to work, and we can continue talking over lunch.”

“And dinner.” Stiles takes a step back, pauses. “I’ve never been so glad to have a crap week in my life.”

“Same.” Derek drops his gaze to the towel. “Planning on getting dressed?”

Stiles takes a step back in, brushes a kiss against Derek’s lips. “Just making sure I’m not still asleep and fantasizing about my incredible new neighbor.” 

He dresses quickly, returning to the kitchen to get a warm cinnamon bun pressed against his lips for a bite before Derek ushers him into the hall, leaving him with coffee and breakfast and somehow heading out to work five minutes ahead of schedule.

It’s a Friday miracle, and as far as Stiles is concerned, it’s a perfect end to a week that maybe wasn’t as bad as he originally thought. He can handle happy endings like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Monday I Can Fall Apart But By Friday I'm In Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284364) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




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